


It Was Always You

by Selenic



Series: Unbreakable [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky's POV, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/pseuds/Selenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the truth is just too plain to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Always You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> Written for the first part of [Love Springs Forth](http://story-works.livejournal.com/849.html) on [Story Works](http://story-works.livejournal.com/), and this is my first Steve/Bucky fic! Hope you enjoy ^_^ Unbetad, all mistakes are mine. (The full prompt can be read [here](http://story-works.livejournal.com/1412.html).)
> 
> And since this was posted on Brumeier's birthday, and she told me she liked it, let it be a gift to her, one of the sweetest people I know :) Happy Birthday! *hugs*
> 
> Crossposted [on LJ](http://selenic76.livejournal.com/100806.html)

 

It Was Always You

 

The small hours of Saturday morning weren't even that small anymore when Bucky finally made his way home. The sky was already turning all those hues that Steve had fancy names for, but which Bucky generally tended to call red. He chuckled softly as he walked down the street towards their small apartment, the chilly air of early spring doing nothing to dampen his happy mood.

Steve would probably be asleep on the couch as usual. He always claimed he hadn't waited up, but Bucky knew it was a lie. Steve worried too much about him. Served him right, for dumping Bucky with both their dates, again, after all the trouble he'd gone through to find them. But who was he to complain, since he'd had two gorgeous dames to wine, dine and dance with, among other things. Still a little drunk, Bucky grinned languidly, content and totally sated. Boy, had he gotten lucky tonight.

He kept smiling as he climbed the creaky stairs and cautiously opened the equally creaky door. The place was quiet and dark, barely lit by the dawn creeping in from between the open curtains. Just as he'd thought, Bucky saw Steve curled up on his side on the couch, fast asleep, without his shoes but still with his clothes on, apart from the jacket which he'd neatly rolled up as his pillow. Steve stirred a little as Bucky put away his keys and removed his own shoes and jacket, but he didn't wake up.

Softly walking into their sparsely furnished living-room, Bucky approached the couch and the soundly sleeping figure. He took the blanket that was folded over the arm rest and gently spread it over Steve, who instinctively grabbed the edge of it and pulled it up to his neck. He mumbled something, and Bucky thought he heard his name but couldn't make out the rest. Steve went back to his dreaming, never even noticing his worrisome friend had returned.

"You get all the sleep you can, buddy, 'cause you're gonna need it," Bucky told him quietly while making sure Steve's toes were under the blanket too. "Got another double date lined up for us on Sunday, and don't you dare bail out on me this time, Stevie." Steve's brow furrowed for a second, but the corner of his mouth twitched with a brief smile. Bucky shook his head and smiled too. Steve would never change, and he never should. The world had way too many Buckys as it was, and not enough Steves.

The sketchbook Steve always carried with him had tumbled to the floor next to the couch, face down, as if Steve had fallen asleep while drawing. The pencil had rolled under the small coffee table. Steve was always drawing something—buildings, landscapes, doodles, people—and Bucky, who was an easy target simply because they lived together. Bucky crouched down and picked up the book, and while he smoothed out a few pages that had crumpled at the corners he leafed through the drawings in the early morning light. 

Steve had talent, Bucky had always known that, but he never stopped being in awe of it. There was a rough but accurate looking perspective sketch of a tall skyscraper, several lively movement studies of their neighbourhood kids playing in the yard, a stunning portrait of an old woman sitting in the sun with her eyes closed, and even a quick draft of the two girls they'd gone on the date with. Bucky had persuaded Steve to show it to them and the girls had been really impressed. Too bad they hadn't seemed too impressed with Steve otherwise. It was their loss.

There was also a new sketch of Bucky, smiling widely, probably at the girls. Steve had drawn it in intricate detail, so much so that the picture almost seemed to come to life. Bucky got why the women liked his handsome mug, but why Steve bothered so much with it was a mystery. To Bucky it had always been Steve who was...

Bucky stopped, suddenly unable to finish the thought. Yet even in his slightly inebriated state he could still sense where it had been heading. Not just the words, but the feeling behind them.

With a faint thump Bucky's behind landed on the floor—he was just too stunned to stay on his feet. Very slowly, he looked up from the sketchbook and turned towards the man covered in the blanket and the soft gold of dawn.

It was still Steve—his best friend, the guy who got beat up on a regular basis by men twice his size but refused to stay down, who was so damn good and honest he should have a halo above his head, and who so stubbornly tried to make it through life alone and not be a bother to anyone that Bucky had moved in without his permission to prove he didn't have to. Someone Bucky had always looked up to, could always count on, and had always done his best to keep safe. Steve was still all of that, yet also somehow... more.

 _Well I'll be damned_.

Bucky shuffled around to face the couch, and Steve. He carefully put down the sketchbook, wrapped his arms around his knees, and then he just studied Steve's face and let the realization sink in.

They'd known each other nearly all their lives, had been friends just as long, so of course Bucky cared about Steve, so much that it broke his heart sometimes—but Bucky had never before, not once, thought about Steve in _that_ way. Or had he? Staring at Steve's sleep-tousled mess of blond hair, the lines of his peaceful face, and the curve of those lips that still seemed to carry a hint of a smile, Bucky could no longer be sure. 

Steve shifted a little, a few strands of hair falling over his eyes. Bucky reached to brush them aside, fingers lingering over the warm skin of Steve's temple, and something inside him shifted as well. The truth had been there all along, too plain to see until now.

_It had always been Steve who was beautiful, inside and out._

And that's why Bucky loved him. Inside and out, body and mind, heart and soul. Of course it was Steve, always had been. Bucky couldn't stop seeing that now even if he'd wanted to, couldn't stop the feeling from spreading through him. Honestly, it was kind of terrifying, but wonderful too.

He let his fingers lightly travel across Steve's cheek, to hesitantly slide over his lips. Steve's breathing hitched just a little, and he made only the tiniest of sounds, but the note of it grabbed both Bucky's heart and groin in a way that was new and strange yet familiar, and completely unmistakable. Bucky smiled and pulled his hand back, not really wanting to, but he'd better let Steve rest a little longer. 

"So, that's how it is then, Stevie," Bucky sighed quietly, pressing those fingers briefly to his own lips, happy laughter bubbling in his chest. "Guess it's me who's been the biggest fool and not the girls."

Talking out loud, Bucky managed to disturb the other's sleep anyway. Steve blinked a few times before wearily opening his eyes and squinting at the brightness of the morning. Then he saw Bucky and gave him a puzzled look.

"You alright, Bucky? You're starin' at me kinda weirdly," Steve mumbled and then yawned, eyes and nose crinkling in a way that had never before been quite so fascinating but which Bucky now couldn't get enough of.

"Just been figurin' something out, don't worry about it, Stevie," Bucky replied, caught by the blue of Steve's sleepy eyes and how they watched him with a mixture of concern and wonder. "Go back to sleep, you need it."

"You should get some sleep too, Bucky, we've gotta work tonight, remember," Steve muttered, eyes already closing as he started to drift back to sleep. His hands crept out from under the blanket to adjust his makeshift pillow before returning to the warmth of Steve's body. Bucky wanted to join them, but right now he wasn't sure if that was such a good idea. He wanted to take things slow, because if there was one thing in his life Bucky didn't want to mess up it was his friendship with Steve. Now more than ever.

"In a minute," Bucky lied, not feeling tired in the least. "Love ya, punk," he said softly, and the ache in his chest that followed the words was sweeter than any other.

"Yeah, yeah, me too, jerk," Steve groaned back tiredly, but he smiled nonetheless, just a little. Then his mouth relaxed and Steve was back in dreamland. Bucky listened to his steady breathing, unbroken by asthma for a change, and wondered what excuse he could use to cancel Sunday's date. Bucky planned to spend the day with Steve, and only Steve.

Bucky sat still and watched Steve sleep as the sun rose along her arc in the sky, filling the tiny room with a bit more warmth and a lot more light while Bucky pondered on his next move. He wasn't sure where things would go from here, where they could go, or even where he wanted them to go, but the direction was clear. His heart was pulling him towards Steve, and there'd be no turning back, no running away. At least for now, Bucky was happy to just wait for Steve to wake up so they could share a late breakfast of stale toast and black coffee together. 

And though Bucky knew he couldn't draw worth a damn, he was determined to find a way to paint Steve a picture of how he felt, and he would make it beautiful.

 

~~~ End ~~~

 


End file.
